Elephant Song

by Wilbur Smith

  Many of the shops had a live mongoose tethered outside the front door.

  Cheng stopped to watch an arranged contest between one of these sleek little predators and a four-foot cobra.

  The cobra reared up as it confronted the mongoose, and the crowd gathered quickly and shrieked with delight. With its striped hood fully extended, the cobra revolved and swayed like a flower on its stalk to watch the circling mongoose with unblinking bright eyes while its feathery black tongue tasted the scent of its adversary on the air.

  The mongoose danced in and then leapt back as the cobra struck. For an instant the snake was off balance and fully extended and the mongoose darted in for the kill. It seized the back of the glistening scaled head and its needle teeth crunched into bone. The snake's body whipped and coiled in its death throes and the proprietor of the shop separated the mongoose from its victim and carried the writhing reptile into his shop, followed by two or three eager male customers.

  Cheng did not join them. He had his own special shop, and he wanted a particular type of snake, the rarest, the most expensive, the most effective.

  The snake-doctor recognized Cheng over the heads of the crowd that thronged the alley. His shop was famous. He did not have to stage mongoose fights to attract his customers. He beamed and bowed, and ushered Cheng through to the back room which was curtained off from the public gaze.

  It was not necessary for Cheng to state his requirements. The shop owner knew him well, over many years. it was Cheng who had arranged his supply of the most virulently poisonous reptiles from Africa. It was Cheng who had introduced him to Chetti Singh, and made the first consignments of snakes through the diplomatic bag. Of course, Cheng; took a commission on each shipment.

  Cheng had also persuaded him to deal in rare African birds.

  Once again these had been supplied by Chetti Singh and the trade was now worth over a quarter of a million US dollars a year. There were collectors in Europe and America who would pay huge sums for a pair of saddle-billed storks or bald this. The African parrots, although not as colourful as the South American varieties, were also much sought after. Chetti Singh could supply all these, and once again Cheng took his commission.

  However, the main source of the snake-doctor's income was still the supply of venomous snakes. The more venomous, the more valuable they were to Chinese gentlemen with faltering potency. The African mamba had been entirely unknown in Taiwan or mainland China until Chetti Singh had made the first shipment. Now they were the most prized of all snakes on the island, and commanded a price of two thousand US dollars apiece.

  The snake-doctor had a particularly beautiful specimen ready in a mesh cage on his stainless-steel-topped table. Now he drew on a pair of elbow-length gloves, a precaution that he would have scorned had he been dealing with a cobra.

  He opened the sliding lid of the cage a crack and slipped in a long steel forked rod. Deftly he pinned the mamba's head and the snake hissed sharply and twined itself around the steel rod.

  Now the snake-doctor opened the lid fully and seized the mamba behind the head, careful to get thumb and forefinger aligned behind the protuberances of the skull so the snake could not pull free of his grip.

  The instant he released the pressure of the forked rod, the snake wrapped itself in tight coils around his forearm. it was six feet long and angry. it exerted all its rippling scaled strength to pull its head free, but the snake-doctor prevented the points of the skull from being drawn through his fingers.

  The mamba's jaws gaped wide open and its short fangs were erect in the pate soft mucous lining of its mouth. The clear venom oozed down the open channel in the fangs and dripped from the points like dew from a rose-thorn.

  The snake-doctor held the reptile's head on a small anvil and with a sharp blow of a wooden mallet crushed the skull. The snake's body whipped around wildly in the death frenzy.

  Cheng watched impassively as the snake-doctor hung the writhing body on a meat hook and then used a razor to slit open the belly cavity and drain the blood- into a cheap glass tumbler. With a surgeon's skill he removed the venom sacs from the mamba's neck and placed them in a glass bowl.

  After that he lifted out the liver and gall bladder and placed them in a separate bowl.

  Next he peeled off the snake's skin, ringing the neck with the razor and stripping the skin like a nylon stocking from a girl's leg. The naked body was pink and glistening. The snake doctor took it down from the meat hook and laid it on the steel tabletop.

  With half a dozen blows of a cleaver he chopped it into pieces, and dropped them into a soup kettle that was already boiling on the burner of a gas stove at the rear of the shop. As he added herbs and spices to the kettle he intoned a magical incantation that had remained unchanged since the Han dynasty of 200 Bc when the first snake-doctors had developed their art.

  Once the soup was cooking, the snake-doctor turned back to his table.

  He spilled the gall bladder and liver into a small mortar and pounded them to pulp with a ceramic pestle. Then he looked up at Cheng enquiringly.

  Do you wish to take the tiger juice? he asked. It was a rhetorical question. Cheng always drank the venom.

  Again it was part of the gambler's thrill to flirt with death, for if he had a tiny gum boil or a scratch on his tongue, a bleeding rash in his throat or a raw spot in his guts, even a duodenal or gastric ulcer, the mamba venom would find it and kill him within minutes, and it would be an excruciating death.

  The snake-doctor added the translucent sacs of venom to the mortar and pounded them in with the liver. Then he scraped the pulp into the glass tumbler of dark blood and while he stirred it he added a dash of medicine from each of three other bottles.

  The concoction was black, and thick as honey. He handed the tumbler to Cheng.

  Cheng drew a deep breath and then tossed back the liquid at a single gulp. It was bitter with gall. He placed the empty glass on the metal table-top, and folded his hands in his lap. He sat without showing any emotion, while the snake-doctor recited spells from his magic book over him.

  If the venom did not kill him, Cheng knew that the potion would arm his manhood. It would transform his flaccid penis into a steel lance.

  It would turn his testicles into cannonballs of iron. He waited quietly for the first symptoms of poisoning.

  After ten minutes he felt no ill-effects, but his penis stirred and swelled into a semi-erection. He moved a little to give it space in his trousers and the snake-doctor smiled and nodded happily at the success of his treatment.

  He went to fetch the soup kettle from the gas burner and poured some of the liquid into a rice bowl and then added a piece of mamba flesh, cooked white and flaking. He offered the bowl and a pair of ivory chopsticks to Cheng.

  Cheng ate the meat and drank the soup and when he had finished he accepted a second bowl. At the end of the meal he belched loudly to show his appreciation, and again the snake doctor nodded and smiled.

  Cheng consulted his wristwatch. It was nine o'clock. He rose to his feet and bowed. Thank you for your assistance, he said formally. I am honoured that my humble efforts have pleased you. I wish you a sword of steel and many happy hours in the velvet scabbard. There was no question of payment. The snake-doctor would make a deduction from Cheng's commission on the supply of African snakes and wild birds.

  Cheng walked back quickly to the apartment building in Tunhua Road.

  He sat in the black leather driving seat of the Porsche and for a few minutes enjoyed the tight full sensation of his erection before he started the engine and drove out of the garage.

  It took him forty minutes to reach the sea pavilion. The grounds were surrounded by a high wall topped with a ridge of ceramic tiles, except on the open sea side. Coloured paper lanterns hung from the traditionally-shaped pediment of the gate. It looked like the entrance to a pleasure garden or fairground.

  Cheng knew that the lanterns had been lit especially to welcome him.

  The guards had been wa
rned to expect him and they made no effort to detain him. Cheng drove through and parked above the rocky headland.

  He locked the Porsche and stood for a moment inhaling the kelp odour of the sea. There was a fast motor launch moored at the private jetty.

  It would be needed later. Cheng knew that in less than two hours the speed boat could be over the thousand yard sounding, over the oceanic depths of the East China Sea. A weighted object, such as a human body, dropped overboard from there would fall into the primeval ooze of the sea-bed, never to be recovered. He smiled. His erection had abated only slightly.

  He went up to the pavilion It was also of traditional architecture.

  It reminded Cheng of the house in the willow-tree pattern on the blue porcelain plates. A servant met him at the door, led him into an inner room and brought him tea.

  it was exactly ten o'clock when she entered the room from behind the bead curtain.

  She was slim as a boy in her tight brocaded tunic and silk pantaloons. He had never been able to guess her age for she wore a mask of make-up like a player in a Peking opera. Her almond eyes were starkly outlined in jet black, while her lids and cheeks were hectically rouged to the carmine colour that the Chinese find so attractive. Her forehead and the bridge of her nose were ash white and her lips a deep startling scarlet.

  Welcome to my house, Green Mountain Man, she lisped, and Cheng bowed.

  I am honoured, Myrtle Blossom Lady. She sat on the sofa beside Cheng and they exchanged formal and polite conversation, until Cheng indicated the cheap imitation leather briefcase he had placed on the table in front of him.

  She appeared to notice it for the first time, but did not deign to touch it herself. She inclined her head and her assistant glided into the room on slippered feet. She must have been watching them from behind the beaded curtain. She left again as silently as she had entered, taking the briefcase with her.

  It took her a few minutes to count the money in the back room and to put it in a safe place. Then she returned and knelt beside her mistress.

  They exchanged a glance. The money was all there.

  You say that there is a choice of two? Cheng asked. Yes, she agreed.

  But would you like to make sure the room is to your taste, and that the equipment is in order? She led Cheng through to the special room at the back of the pavilion.

  The central piece of furniture was a gynaecologist's couch, complete with stirrups. It was fitted with a plastic cover that could be removed and destroyed after use, and there was also a plastic sheet laid over the floor. The walls and ceiling were tiled and washable.

  Like an operating theatre, it could be scrubbed down to its present sterile condition.

  Cheng moved to the table on which the instruments were laid out.

  There was a selection of silk cords of various lengths and thicknesses arranged in neat coils on the tray. He picked up one of these and ran it through his fingers. His erection, which had softened, revived strongly.

  Then he turned his attention to the other items on the table, a full set of stainless steel gynaccological instruments.

  Very good, he told her.

  Come, she said, and took his hand. You may choose now.

  She led him to a small window in the near wall. They stood hand-in-hand in front of it and looked through the one-way glass into the room beyond.

  After a few moments the female assistant led two children into the room.

  They were both dressed in white. In the Chinese tradition, white was the colour of death. Both the little girls had long dark hair and pretty little nut-brown pug faces.

  Cambodian or Vietnamese, Cheng guessed.

  Who are they? he asked. Boat people, she said. Their boat was captured by pirates in the South China Sea. All the adults were killed.

  They are orphans, nameless and stateless. Nobody knows they exist; nobody will miss them. The female assistant began to undress the two little girls. She did it skilfully, titillating the hidden audience like a strip-tease artiste.

  One girl was at least fourteen. Once she was naked Cheng saw that she had full breasts and a dark tussock of pubic hair, but the other girl was barely pubescent. Her breasts were flower buds, and the fine haze of pubic down did not conceal the plump cleft of her pudenda.

  The young one! Cheng whispered hoarsely. I want the young one. Yes, she said. I thought that would be your choice. She will be brought to you in a few minutes. You may take as long as you wish. There is no hurry. She left the room, and suddenly the music swelled from hidden speakers, loud Chinese music with gongs and drums that would cover any other sound, such as a little girl's screams.

  The colonials of Victorian times had sited Ubotno's Government House with care on high ground above the lake, with a view out across the waters, and they had surrounded it with lawns and exotic trees brought out from Europe to remind them of home. in the evenings the breeze came down from the Mountains of the Moon in the west, with the memory of glaciers and eternal snows, to take the edge off the heat.

  Government House was still as it had been in the colonial era, no more pretentious than a comfortable redbrick ranch house with high ceilings, enclosed on all sides by a wide flyscreened verandah. Victor Omeru had kept it that way. He would not spend money on grand public buildings while his people were in want. The aid that he received from Ameria and Europe had all gone into agriculture, health and education, not personal aggrandisement.

  Tonight the verandahs and lawns were crowded as Daniel Armstrong and Bonny drove up in the army Landrover that had been placed at their disposal. A Hita corporal in camouflage overalls, with a submachine-gun slung over one shoulder, waved them into a parking slot between two other vehicles with diplomatic licence plates. How do I look? Bonny asked anxiously as she checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. Sexy, Daniel told her truthfully.

  She had teased her hair out into a great tawny red mane and she wore a green mini-skirt tight around her buttocks and high on her thighs.

  For such a big girl she had shapely legs. Give me a hand. Damned skirts!

  The Landrover stood high and her skirt rode up as she slid down. She showed a flash of lace pantie that rocked the Hita corporal on to his heels.

  There were floodlights in the jacaranda trees and an army band belted out popular jazz with a distinctive African beat that lifted Daniel's spirits and put a spring in his step.

  All this in your honour, Bonny chuckled.

  I bet Taffari tells that to all his guests. Daniel smiled.

  Captain Kajo, who had met them at the airport, hurried towards them as soon as they stepped on to the lawn. He was looking at Bonny's legg from twenty paces away, but he addressed Daniel. Ah, Doctor Armstrong, the president has been asking for you. You are the guest of honour tonight.

  He led them up the front steps on to the verandah. Daniel picked out President Taffari instantly, even though he had his back turned to them.

  He was the tallest in a room full of tall Hita officers. He wore a maroon mess jacket of his own design, although his head was bare. Mr.

  President. Captain Kajo addressed his back deferentially, and Taffari turned and smiled and displayed the medals on his chest. May I present Doctor Daniel Armstrong and his assistant Miss Mahon? Doctor! Taffari greeted Daniel. I am a great admirer of your work. I could not have chosen anybody more qualified to show my country to the world. Up until now we have been kept in obscurity and medieval isolation by the reactionary old tyrant we overthrew. it is time that Ubomo came into its own. You will help us, Doctor. You will help us bring my beloved country into the twentieth century by focusing world attention upon us.

  I'll do all in my power, Daniel assured him cautiously.

  Although he had seen photographs of him, Daniel was unprepared for Taffari's eloquence and presence. He was a striking looking man, exuding power and confidence. He stood a full head taller than Daniel's six feet and had the features of an Egyptian pharaoh carved in amber.

  His eyes slid past Da
niel and settled on Bonny Mahon. She stared back at him boldly and wet her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

  You are the photographer. Sir Peter Harrison sent me a videotape of "Arctic Dream". If you can photograph Ubomo with the same understanding and craft, I will be well pleased, Miss Mahon. He looked down at her bosom, at the big golden freckles on her upper chest that gave way to a narrow strip of unblemished creamy skin above the top of her green dress. The exposed cleavage between her breasts was deep and tightly compressed. You are very kind, Mr. President, she said, and Taffari laughed softly.

  Nobody has ever called me that before, he admitted, and then changed the subject. What do you think of my country so far? We only arrived today, Bonny pointed out. But the lake is lovely and the people are so tall, the men so handsome. She made it a personal compliment. The Hita are tall and handsome, Taffari agreed. But the Uhali are small and ugly as monkeys, even their women. The Hita. officers of his staff laughed delightedly and Bonny gulped with shock. Where I come from we don't talk disparagingly of other ethnic groups. It's called racism, and it's unfashionable, she said.

  He stared at her for a moment. Clearly he was unaccustomed to being corrected. Then he smiled, a thin, cool little smile. Well, Miss Mahon, in Africa we tell the truth. If people are ugly or stupid we say so.

  It's called tribalism, and I assure you it's extremely fashionable.

  His staff roared with laughter, and Taffari turned back to Daniel.

  Your assistant is a woman of strong views, Doctor, but I believe you were born in Africa. You have a keener understanding. It shows in your work. You have put your finger on the problems that face this continent, and poverty is the most crippling of those. Africa is poor, Doctor, and Africa is passive and supine. I intend to change that. I intend to endow my country with the spirit and confidence to exploit our natural wealth and to develop the strength and native genius of our people. I want you to record our endeavours. His staff officers, all in the same marooncoloured mess jackets, applauded this statement.